


The Wolf's Kraken

by sweetlilbookworm



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Drama, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family, Love, Pack Dynamics, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-01 18:57:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20867339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetlilbookworm/pseuds/sweetlilbookworm
Summary: Theon Greyjoy is the arrogant and brash heir of House Greyjoy and ward of House Stark. When he falls in love with his liege lord's daughter he have three years to transform from a boy to man. Follow him on his journey from boy to man, from squid to Kraken all for the love of his Direwolf Lady.





	1. Thoughts of a Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> *This story is based on my vision of the North and what his should be. The Stark's are wealthier and the North is a more prosperous place. There will be no blatant description why but there will be tidbits told in the story. I have worked very hard on these chapters and would deeply appreciate not being copyrighted off of. It's taken a lot of pep talks to put myself out there and I would not mind constructive feedback on the chapters on what went well together, character development, and the general pace of the chapters. I hope everyone enjoys the book. 
> 
> Have a blessed and prosperous day.
> 
> Ty

Sansa

Sansa Stark, a girl of three and ten, sat perched in her seat, staring at herself in her looking glass and stroking the soft coat of her loyal friend and companion Lady, a direwolf that was gifted to her at five namedays. Her chambermaid stood, soothingly brushing out her hair before the evening was over and it was time for her to retire. Her skin was glowing in the softly diffused light of a crackling hearth, and she thought she looked especially pretty. 

Tonight was the third evening she had caught her father's ward staring at her with an unusual expression his face. The first time she noticed it, she dismissed it quickly, thinking he was staring past her. The second she thought perhaps her younger sister Arya had flicked food in her hair again as she often did when she was bored at dinner. But this third time she could not dismiss it. She knew he was unquestionably staring at her, and she knew there was no food in her hair. And this time she recognized that odd expression on Theon's face. She had seen it every day of her life except it was on her Magnar father's face when he was gazing at her Mother.

Greyjoy was a well-known name North but not for the reasons a father looking to give away his daughter would approve of. Greyjoy was often the bane of many a lord along every coast with their raiding, raping, and reaping the shores during wartimes and sometimes during peace as well. Theon Greyjoy was insolent and vain without cause since he was not the best at anything on or off of the training grounds. Wait, she lied. If there were a champion of bedding whores in Winter City, then Theon would undoubtedly take the prize. He was a frequent visitor of Winter City's brothels and often could be found stumbling drunk through Winterfell's corridors late at night, and if he wasn't drunk at night, he was feeling the aftereffects in the mornings. 

He had gotten many serving maids pregnant and doled out much moon tea until Father made it known any servant to sleep with him would be no longer be employed with Stark's. With his poor attitude and even worse mouth, he got under many a visiting lords skin. He always did it with an irritating smirk too. However, there was a side not many if any folks saw of Theon Greyjoy that Sansa saw regularly. There was something that tethered the two together. He often shot her soft kind smiles, brought her lemon cakes in the middle of the night, and secretly trained her in archery all within the last year. Perhaps it was the secret the two shared between them.

Sansa knew she was a beautiful girl. Just past her twelfth name-day, she flowered into a beautiful young woman. Sansa stood taller than most girls her age with thick flame tinted hair, full sapphire blue eyes adorned with lashes that touched her delicate high cheekbones, filled rosebud lips and glowing, radiant skin. Her legs lost their gangliness and became slender, her hips widened, and she lost the baby fat on her face and stomach, leaving her a slim, elegant, lovely young maiden.

In the months following her twelfth name-day ravens swooped in and out of the windows on Winterfell with request for her hand from her Father's bannermen, southern lords, and even a request or two from Essos. One night last year, after she and Arya had snuck to the kitchens for lemon cakes and then gone swimming in the hot springs she and had deposited Arya at her chambers; she had been assaulted by two of her father's guards. They had gotten drunker than Robert Baratheon, and either couldn't see her face clearly in the dim corridor or didn't care. They pulled her into a hidden alcove behind a hanging and before she could comprehend what was happening and could scream she was on the dirty floor, her mouth covered, nightgown being torn to shreds, and two men pawing at her freshly grown breast. She tried to reach for the concealed dagger on her thigh to slice at their hands and faces, but the men were much bigger than her and valiantly held her slim wrist down. 

Theon, who was sneaking in himself from the brothels, heard the tearing of a gown and muffled cries and his drunken mind grew curious. Stumbling to the tapestry, he pulled it back to discover the hidden trio. His muddled mind could not comprehend or grasp what he was seeing, and thus he stood there for a second, observing. 

Sansa saw Theon first. He was obviously coming from somewhere with ruffled hair and clothing, but she thought nothing of it and threw him a desperate stare and increased her cries and stuggling so he could understand what was happening to her, so he could understand her assault and protect her. She saw when his mind registered what he was seeing. She can still picture it, and she doubts she'll ever forget either. His face transformed into shock before his features blackened in the rage of his sigil the Kraken. His hands, he had so many of them, reached out from the shadowy halls, a small yet sharp blade in one of them. He violently thrust the knife in the back of the skull of the brute on top of Sansa before lashing out, slitting the throat of the other guard who was beginning to look up to see what the disturbance was. Sansa could only tremble as the essence of death, watery shit, and copper pooled around her, soaking into her blackened skin, tangled hair, and torn nightgown.

Theon scooped her into his arms before racing down the corridors. He avoided many guards, not wanting them to see his liege lord's daughter in her bloody shell shocked and half-naked state. When he arrived to her to her room, depositing her into her bed was an impossibility since she was not willing to let him go, clinging to him like a barnacle to the bottom of an Ironborn ship, and crying for hours afterward. Robb, who only the old gods know what he was doing awake, was passing by his sister's room. Concerned for her he cracked open the door and nearly ran Theon threw with a sword after seeing his sister and best friend in such position. Theon explained what had occurred to Robb over Sansa's sobbing. Robb checked on the bodies to confirm his story, Robb had wanted to immediately go to their Father and tell him what happened. Hearing what Robb was about to do Sansa snapped out her shock throwing herself at the door, wailing that Father and Mother couldn't know anything. It took a bit more Sansa's hysterical weeping before Robb agreed, scared she was going to hurt herself with her fervor of sobbing. The discovery of the guards the next day mystified her family for weeks after. Nothing was spoken anymore about that night except a piercing glare from Sansa between the three the next morning.

She mentally shook off thoughts of that haunting night before guiding her thoughts back to her Kraken. Sansa was not a vain girl, but she did know her worth. Sansa was a beautiful inexperienced maiden with descendance from kings and queens who ruled the harsh lands of the North for 8000 years before the Targaryens displaced them. She knew she wanted to be more than another sold off to her Father's bannermen as thanks for their loyal service. Was there anything wrong with the men or the North? No, of course not. They were large, burly, warm men. But they would treat her as a prized trophy. She wanted to be someone's partner, not a trophy who breeds children. A wolf was no one's trophy. Sansa craved to rule beside her husband as his equal. She wanted into one of the Great Houses of Westeros or perhaps even be the next Queen of Westeros. Sansa knew it was a very much real possibility since her father was close friends with King Robert Baratheon I. And the king made it no secret that he still desired to join House Stark and House Baratheon in marriage as it ought to have been before her aunt's kidnapping. Plus, she heard the prince was quite a pretty thing to look upon. And yet her mind often found her mind wandering back to the Greyjoy heir.

Sansa chambermaid hit a snag in her thick hair, jerking Sansa from her thoughts and into the now. She smiled softly in her looking glass to assure the girl it was alright before wandering back into the black hole that was her feelings on the Greyjoy heir. She couldn't deny that he was a good-looking man. But you had to be more than pleasing to the eye to rule with a Wolf of Winterfell. Many men did not understand that Catelyn Stark was not just the wife but also the partner of Eddard Stark. She overlooked many of his books, was behind the planting of two Godswood and was the creator of Lyanna's Garden, a two-acre winter rose garden filled with frosty blue, red, and white sweet-smelling roses. Her Mother was a hidden ruler of the North but a ruler nonetheless.

Although young Sansa was fully aware that her infatuation with Theon Greyjoy was not going to disappear but had only grown stronger during the year with all of his gentleness towards her. Sansa was raised on stories of southern knights, flowery lords, and vengeful lovers who would maim and kill to protect their lady loves and knew her obsession with Theon undoubtedly stemmed from his killing to protect her and her maidenhood. That night with Theon shifted her entire outlook of the boy she had grown up with. He was no longer her Father's drunken whoring ward but an attractive man capable of noble acts and compassion and kindness. And he was indeed handsome. She couldn't deny that he was a pretty silhouette to look upon. He locks made of ink that fell to his lean shoulders, storm grey eyes, a straight nose, etched jaw, and an ever-present sloping roughish grin on his pinkish lips. He undoubtedly one of the most handsome men who walked the halls of Winterfell but that was not enough for her to want to be Lady Greyjoy. Startled by the twist her thoughts were taking, she regally raised her right hand in a gesture for her chambermaid to stop brushing her hair.

"That will be all, thank you."

The chambermaid, a comely ruddy-faced childlike woman, immediately sat down her weirwood brush and fell into a quick curtsy.

"Goodnight, Magnara Sansa. Sweet dreams."

Sansa gave her a soft smile and soft tilt of her head.

"And you as well, Meera."

As the door behind the servant closed Sansa stood from her seat and twisted and turned her body to see it from all angles, wondering if she could tempt the beached Kraken into acting like a lord befitting of his status to everyone else and not just her. Her silk nightgown did nothing to hide her beautiful shape, and she let the robe slip off her shoulders a little. Sansa looked a woman like this and couldn't wait for a time Theon could see her in nothing but silk nightgowns and bedding furs. But before anything like that happens, she would demand the boy to become a man if they were to ever rule the Iron Islands, bringing peace, prosperity, and respect to the Islands and Greyjoy name. Besides his actions not only embarrassed House Greyjoy but also House Stark, who was holding him. She gave a heavy sigh before pulling her robe back up and walking past the mountain of furs next to her thick featherbed before sliding under a tower of mammoth and bear furs and silken sheets. It was her and Arya's day out tomorrow and she needed to be well rested for her over energetic little sister.

As Lady trotted up to the side of Sansa's featherbed to lay next to her mistress Sansa's last thoughts were of storm grey eyes.


	2. A Beached Kraken

Theon

A warm body, frigid wind, pounding head, and the smell dust is what awoke Theon Greyjoy. His eyes snapped open, before closing again, the weak morning light elevating the throbbing in his head. The redheaded woman that was draped across him was rudely shaken awake when he pushed her off of him. Sitting into a decent position made his entire body ache, and he wondered what he could’ve done the night before to cause his body such discomfort.

”Where are ye off ta’?”

Ros, the redheaded whore who had been jostled awake, asked. She was used to the young Greyjoy’s mannerisms and had long ago stopped being bothered with his thoughtlessness.

”The same place I’m always off to after fucking you, Ros. The bathtub.”

The night began to come to him in flashes of events. Drinking. An argument. Fist flying. Being thrown into the street. Stumbling his way into the brothel. A smiling Ros. Theon elongated his fingers, tracing a new smattering of bloody grooves on his bony knuckles. 

”I’m pleased we are headed to the same destination, Kraken.” 

Theon’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing.

”And what do you mean that?”

Theon didn’t mean to be so short-tempered with his favorite whore, but between his aching body, the cold morning draft, and his massive ego, he couldn’t help but get a little miffed at her blatantly disrespectful remark. She always had a smart mouth, his Ros, and he kept telling her she needed to know when to keep it shut. Ros rolled over and was putting on a long thick fur robe to stave off the winter chill. She had three children to feed, and missing one day at work because of a sickness brought on by the late-season would do her no good. She was laughing haughtily as she replied.

”It means exactly what I said, Kraken, I’m going to wash your stench off of me.”

If there was anything Theon hated more in the world, it was being laughed at and insulted. As he felt as though he was both, he gave an unpleasant laugh and even gave her a lecherous glare.

”You’re the one who’s a whore. The only one who should be concerned about diseases being carried is me.”

Ros raised an excellently arched eyebrow, unfazed by the ugly boy’s temperament and words, shaking out her auburn mane.

”And yet you’re the one who pays whores to bed you and keep you company. Who’s more pathetic? The women who have to sell their bodies to be able to buy food for themselves and their children or the men who are so unattractive that they cannot get a woman to bed them like regular folk does? Besides Theon Greyjoy, you’ve visited most of the whores’ beds here and then went to other towns as well. All the ladies bathe after laying with you. We do want anything YOU might have.”

Theon’s cheeks flushed ruddy with shame, rage, and humiliation as Ros sauntered out the room before he could come up with a scathing retort. He quickly snatched up his black doublet, breeches, and sable cloak and throwing on his dark boots before exiting the space, down the hall, through the common room where he passed Ros and a group of scantily dressed women, who cackled cruelly as he traipsed by, and out of the brothel into the harsh northern air. The air scorched his nostrils. He couldn’t believe what that whore had said to him. 

How dare she speak to him as though he was a lowly commoner like herself instead of the next in succession to be the Lord Paramount and Protector of the Iron Isles? She was not above being whipped or punished! His nasty mood continued well after he’d saddled his horse and rode through the Training district of Winter City. The jewel of the North and First Men culture. As he was approaching the middle of the city, and thus Winterfell, he stopped for hot stew, a fruit tart, and a tin of honey mead at a prominent pub outside of Winterfell’s iron gates. 

The pub is two stories high, built of ironwood planks. Hanging overtop the entrance of the pub, what was once a great antlered stag. Walking through the door, Theon is bombarded with heat, heady aromas, noise, and imagery. To his left, this is an enormous hearth releasing pine-scented mist. To his right, another crackling fireplace, and in front of him a bar made to order. A large wall with a window separates the kitchen from the dining area, and a heated stone oven for baking bread can be seen through the window. Between the two fireplaces, there are many long tables filled with smallfolk, guards, and others with servers going from table to table, delivering their ordered meals. 

Passing a unruly table of men, Children of the Forest, and weirwood druids he came to a stop before the bar where a beautiful tavern wench was cleaning and taking orders. 

”Lemme ge’ a elk stew wit carrots,’ tatoes, an’ celry.’ An’ lemme ge’ a pear tart an’ a jug o’ honey mead.” 

After spending most of his life in the North, slipping into the northern common tongue felt as natural as breathing to the displaced Kraken.

”Is tha’ all Lord Greyjoy?” the pretty pub wench asked without looking up or blinking. 

”How’d ye know it t’ was me an’ ya did ni’ even look up?” Theon asked with surprise. 

”I recognize yo house colors on ye doublet.” she replied. 

”Ah, yes. Tha’ will be all.” 

His tankard of warm honey mead was slammed in front of him, making the sweet, warm liquid slosh up the sides. Theon grabbed the glass before any more liquid could spill and went to sit at a table near the back of the tavern so he could watch who was coming in and out. While his eyes were surveying the room, they caught on flame tinted hair and a pair of eyes that were scrutinizing him. They were pretty and sapphire blue and were very much familiar to him. And he was sure the person those eyes belonged to was out of the castle without her Father’s knowledge or permission. 

When he looked at the small figure sitting next to the blue eyes, he knew he was correct. There were no Wolf Guards with Sansa and Arya Stark, and although they were dressed in the most unadorned clothing in the inn with their hair tied back, they were still getting knowing looks from the majority of the smallfolk around them. They sat too straight, didn’t slurp their from their bowls, and had perfect manners. Or at least Sansa did. Not that they were paying that much attention to the common folk around them as they were so focused on their stews, tarts, and mead. 

He scooped up his mead and strolled over to the table his liege lord’s daughters were sitting, after all, now that he had seen them, he was duty-bound to make sure nothing happened to them while they were out from under the Quiet Wolf’s sight. He saw many a folk give him approving looks but ignored them as he sat down at his new table. Arya’s large grey eyes snapped up to see who had invited themselves to the Stark girl table and when they landed on Theon, she froze before her eyes snapped to the entrance seeking, out her older brothers or worse her lord father or lady mother. 

Leaning in close, he donned his most aggravating smirk. He spoke loud enough for only them to hear him, there was no need to confirm what most already knew about the two girls.

”Now, what are the two lovely daughters of Lord Stark doing all by themselves outside the walls of Winterfell?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * What are your first thoughts of the evasive Lord Greyjoy and would you like to see more of Ros?


	3. A Clash of Wills

Sansa

Theon had on his most irritating grin, she was sure of it. Sansa thought of just ignoring the older boy, pretending she didn’t know who he was only for the sake of it, but the boy had lived with her for a long as she could remember, of course, he was going to recognize her and Arya. 

She should have known she shouldn’t have kept staring when she saw him walk through the door of her favorite pub, the one with two fireplaces, thick winter stews, and heady pine smoke. Theon was staring directly into her eyes, just like she had been doing when their eyes met across the smoke-filled room. She had to mentally shake herself to compose her thoughts and not to get lost in his gaze and roguish smirk. She forced her eyes to her beef stew and then his mead and coolly looked him in the eyes. 

”I suppose we’re here for the same thing, Greyjoy. Food. Can you leave now?”

She felt a spike of pleasure when Theon’s smirk wavered. And then it was back in full force. 

”Does your father know you are here?”

Sansa barely restrained herself from rolling her Tully blue eyes. 

”Yes, as you can see, there are plenty of Wolf Guard about.”

Sansa didn’t mean to sound so cynical and mocking because she knew he hated feeling as though he was being made fun of, but that’s the way it came out, and she can’t particularly say she was sorry about her words in general but her tone. He asked a foolish question. Of course, her father didn’t know she and Arya were out. 

He didn’t let his children or wife go anywhere without the Wolf Guard. She saw his jaw tighten a little before being released as the lovely bar wench was carrying his food over. She placed his meal in front of him, Theon looked up at her with a broad, charming smile and purred a thank you. It was times like this when Sansa wasn’t sure if he really did give her those looks, the looks her Father gives to her mother, or if her massive crush was just causing her to see things that were not there. She dismissed her barb of jealousy. 

Direwolves were a dignified and regal beast not to be bothered with petty things such as matters of the heart. But nonetheless, her spirit lighted when the pretty woman didn’t acknowledge his smile and walked away without a second glance behind her. 

Sansa’s eyes dropped to her stew, before looking up and seeing Arya was still staring at Theon with her mouth open in horror. Sansa smacked Arya’s leg under the table, causing the younger girl to let out an undignified yelp, which Sansa couldn’t refrain from rolling her eyes at. 

”Your food is going to get cold while you catch flies with your mouth.” 

Arya scowled at here but went back to shoveling her food into her mouth but not without another nervous glance at the entrance. Sansa picked up her own spoon and begin to eat the heavy stew she craved enough to sneak out of Winterfell.

It was warm and dense and rustic and delicious, filled to the kettle brim with tender beef cubes, spices, fat, hardy broth, and winter vegetables. Next to that was her spiced pear tart. And then her warm honey mead that always settled with a warmth penetrating her bones. A delicious meal marred by the appearance of Theon Greyjoy, who stank of beer and whores. Everyone ate in silence for a few moments, enjoying their flavorful food. And then Theon had to open his mouth when they were nearly halfway through their bowls.

”So, what did you Ladies order?”

Before Sansa could tell him to leave again, because she genuinely was upset about his interruption of an entirely prearranged day, his flirting with the tavern crew, and the stench of whores that covered him like a sable cloak, Arya proclaimed excitedly,

”I got a rabbit stew with carrots, sugar snap peas, tiny red potatoes, and thyme. A wheel of soft cheese and butter and black break so I can have something to dip in my stew. And an apple tart with cinnamon and a jug of honey mead because Sansa says I’m aged enough to have a little mead. Sansa ordered-”

”A stew and a tart and mead. That is all.”

Santa can not help but cut Arya off with her curt response. She knew it wasn’t a big deal that he asked what she was eating, but Sansa still didn’t want him to know anything about anything happening that day, including what she was eating. Her cold eyes settled on the Iron Islands heir before she decided to finish what was in her kettle so she could get away from him and on with her day quickly. A Magnara never rushed, but she ate with a bit more urgency, savoring the lovely flavors her pear galette and sipping down the last of her mead before standing.

Arya had finished a moment before her and was instead continuously chatting with a man with tree trunk arms, thick wool clothing, and a dark cloak with soot on his face. What she and the apparent blacksmith could have in common, Sansa had no idea, but the man appeared to be enjoying the conversation as much as Arya. Theon’s eyes snapped to her a she stood up. 

”Come, Arry, it’s time to return home.”

Arya looked to protest but fastened her mouth at the no-nonsense look given to her by Sansa. She’d perfected it as the eldest Stark girl, picking it up from her father when he wanted something done immediately. The elderly smallfolk around her were amused. Some of them had lived long enough to see that same look given to the current Magnar by his father. As she helping Arya fasten her cloak and proceeds to the door, the men and women dropped their ignorant ruse they and stood and bowed. 

”Safe travels Magnaras Sansa and Arya.”

Arya looked surprised for one moment before she burst out in happy giggles, whereas as Sansa shook her head at her naivete, of course, they’d recognize her Tully hair and Stark mannerisms, especially the Children who always lived long lives. She turned and did a small bow before in Old Tongue. 

”And you, beloved people.” 

Sansa’s farther made sure admiration for all of the smallfolk was installed in his children at an early age. Without them, the Stark’s would be nothing. House Stark respect of their everyday citizens was one of the things that made them a beloved and cherished House. Her retort seemed to please many people as she was leaving the inn. 

”I can’t believe they recognized us. We have on our most everyday dresses, and our hair is in smallfolk styles.” Arya stated, trying to saddle her mare for riding. Her horse was a dark and willful creature and did not want to stay still.” Perhaps it was because Theon sat with us, he’s always ruining a good thing.”

By the time Arya was finished with her rant, Theon had joined them outside near the tethered horses. He and was helping Sansa with her mare. It was a beautiful and gentle creature. She scowled at him, displeased that their day in the city was surely being cut short because of Theon's arrival. They were supposed to be buying toys for the children at the Winter City orphanage, eating numerous fruit tarts, getting new dresses sewed, and some old ones fixed, and play with the hounds and cats in the breeding pens all day. 

Sansa would undoubtedly cut the day short because of Theon’s appearance in fear he’d tell their Lord Father, who was a huge man, to Arya, with a stern face and large spanking hands. Sansa saw and knew Arya’s dissatisfaction arose from her reasoning she would break off their day before it truly began. 

Sansa had no intention of doing such a thing. Although the two sisters rarely saw eye-to-eye, they were taught family and pack life was everything and thus made extra attempts to get along and be cordial to each other, which included days like this once a month where they’d sneak out of Winterfell and traipse the city and parks together. 

”Don’t be mad at Theon, Arya. He couldn’t have known we’d be there.”

Sansa cursed herself for defending the delinquent Kraken.

“Yes, well, he didn’t have to sit with us,” Arya grumbled. 

Sansa, by this time, was sitting astride her mare and was next to Theon. He was slinging himself on his own horse. She reached over and placed her hand on her agitated little sisters, who she knew was more upset that their time together was being disrupted, she gave Arya a tender smile. 

”We’re not going back to Winterfell. We made plans today, and we shall see them through. It’s our day together, Arya.” 

Arya’s dim grey eyes lit up on her grim and scowling Stark face. 

“Truly? We’re not going back now?” 

”Of course not.”

”But what about Theon and Father?”

At this, both girls turned and stared at Theon, who was gazing at them with sparkling eyes, heavy eyelids, and a loping smile. 

”If he runs and tells Father, then I shall deal with it.” Sansa asserts briskly while glaring coldly into Theon’s eyes. Theon's cheeks flush, and his eyes flicker in barely restrained annoyance. 

”I’m not going to run off and tell the big bad wolf if that’s what you’re afraid of. Besides, I’m going with you. I cannot just let my liege lords daughters go sauntering about this vast and dangerous city.” 

Sansa raised an eyebrow haughtily. Does this man know no bounds? His head has swollen to epic proportions, and she had to put him in his place before his head or ego swelled any larger. She was afraid it might actually pop. Sansa tugs her horse’s reins tightly to the right, turning her horse down the cobbled vendor filled pathway. 

”You are not going anywhere with me or my sister smelling like a night in a dirty pub and whores. Go take a bath, Greyjoy.” 

As she’s trotting away, flame-like hair and grey cloak trailing after her, her voice carries back to a stunned Theon on the wind. 

”And tell them to add extra cedar oil to the waters.”


	4. A Pondering Wolf Pup

Arya

Arya handed her reins over to a blonde portly stable boy. Her smile was firmly in place as she walked into Winterfell castle after her lovely morning and afternoon with Sansa. Sansa got her measured and commissioned for a blade from the large blacksmith Edd who she was sitting with at the Stone Stag Barrel. Her father’s voice reached her from the darkness of the shadows. 

”And where have you been all day?”

She jumped a foot in the air. Jon emerged from the darkness after lingering a little longer. His grey eyes, which he and Arya shared, were sparkling with mirth at scaring her out of her wits. She almost jumped on him in retaliation but remembered that Sansa was behind her and would not approve, stating something akin to,” Jumping on people is not becoming of a Magnara of House Stark even if they deserve it.” because she knew Jon’s penance for scaring Arya with his likeness to their father. 

She knew Jon enjoyed being confused with their father after he hit his growth spurt last year. He still carried some insecurities from his years as a bastard before father wrote to King Robert to get him legitimized. He stood almost as tall with the same stocky shoulders, long inky hair, and grave voice that made many a fooling servant stop on their tracks when hearing it. 

”Jon,” Arya said after releasing the sleeve of her dress when she saw there was no need for a good lie.

”Jon, that wasn’t funny.” 

She couldn’t help the scowl that blackened her features. Jon’s smile was gentle, and his laugh light as he threaded his arm through Arya’s before beginning to walk. 

”You always say that with that exact scowl before laughing about it later, little pup.”

Jon’s eyes twinkled down at Arya, making her resentment at him, scaring her again flee as quickly as it came. After all, he was the only one who knew about her and Sansa’s monthly trips into Winter City to play with the children and get fruit tarts. She smiled at him, sugary sweet. 

”Jon, you would not believe the day I’ve had. It was wonderful. Sansa and I ate at the Stone Stag Barrel, you couldn’t guess who showed up there, and we had stew and fruit tarts and mead. And then we went and bought toys for the young ones at the orphanage. And then we played with the babies. Well, Sansa played with the babies, and I play sword fighting with the lads. And then we got more tarts. And then we went and got our old dresses fixed and ordered new ones for The Games. And then we ate more pies. And then-” 

Arya’s voice dropped considerably in the conspiracy while her eyes darted to ever-present bleakness of the night.

”-then Sansa took me to a blacksmith we met earlier in the day at the inn to have me fitted for a blade!” 

As Arya stopped speaking to look up at her older and most admired sibling, she saw him looking down at her with pretty eyes and amusement. 

”Well, it sounds as though you had the most exciting day of all the people who ever lived in Winterfell.”

”I’m sure I did.” Arya stated smugly not picking up Jon’s sweet teasing.

”Well, you must get into the bath with haste before your mother catches you in this dress and the city scents that linger on it. I’ve already ordered for hot water to be taken up to your chamber a little while earlier. It should be at the perfect temperature for you to bathe now.” 

Jon honestly did know her best. She stood on her tiptoes while Jon leaned down to place a chaste kiss upon his cheek before sprinting off to her room, leaving behind a chuckling Jon. 

As she snaked, trotted, and twisted through the corridors of her labyrinth of a castle to get to her chambers in the family quarters, she thought back on Theon that day. He looked disheveled and unkempt and smelled the alcohol of the Training District. She knew he visited whores. She heard all of the older boys talk about it when they didn’t notice she was there. It paid to be small, slender, and plain-looking sometimes. She always heard everyone’s secrets, especially when dressed in her plainest trousers, doublet, and her hair tucked away. Carrying a basket made her practically invisible. 

She knew something between Sansa and Theon happened a year ago. It was probably one of the only secrets she couldn’t get a hold of, but she knew it had something to do with the middle of the night and those two dead drunken guards. Lately, she had seen a funny expression on his face when he looked at Sansa that unnerved her. 

She’d seen him looked at Sansa more than five times already; sometimes, when Sansa’s back was turned, he’d get that peculiar expression on his face and stare at her until she was out of sight. And she always saw Theon staring at her sisters’ backside. She punched him one time because of it. 

Arya approached her door, ran into her room, and jumped into the first comfortable chair she could reach. Her breathing was labored, knees shaky. Her chambers were made too warm by the steam from her hot bath. After a moment or two, when she caught her breath, and her legs were less jittery, she went to her window and threw it open. 

The cold northern wind rushed into the room, chasing out the heat. Arya was a girl of the North and a wolf of Winterfell, and her blood ran hotter than most. She spread her arms and embraced the sharp northern air. Walking over to her tub, she removed her clothing before slipping into the now rapidly cooling water. 

Her large wolf Nymeria went unnoticed as Arya grabbed her scrub brush because she didn’t need anyone to help her like Sansa; she thought about what she should do about Theon. Should she tell her father about the strange looks and backside staring, or should she let him discover it himself? 

She decided to let him discover it himself.


	5. A Conversation Between Wolves

Ned

Ned Stark sat in his lord’s solar, reflecting on disturbing thoughts. This was the fifth time he had found his ward Theon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands giving his oldest daughter a smitten look. The look of a boy enticed with a pretty girl. His concern was growing by the day. He’d noticed them when she first turned twelve. He understood it then because that was the year Sansa flowered from a pretty young maiden into an elegant and lovely young woman of the North.

Her legs had grown slender, no longer gangly, her hair thickened, hips broadened, lips started to fill in, and skin glow. It had only gotten worse, or better depending on your viewpoint, over the last year. Whispers of her beauty had filled Winterfell and then spilled out into the city before flooding the countryside where they begin to reach his bannermen ears. Which then brought the swooping of ravens in and out of Winterfell windows with petitions for Sansa’s hand.

He knew when she was a small babe, her beauty would be great, but he didn’t anticipate this great. She was more beautiful than his lovely Catelyn, something that pleased Catelyn much. His mind flickered to Arya, knowing that her transformation from dull looking short girl would be coming soon as well, and dreading the day.

He remembered Lyanna at Arya’s age, nine name-days. Arya was nearly her mirror image in both temperament and looks. A long Stark face, windblown hair, knobby knees, and a short frame. And then came her thirteenth name day where she sprouted into a winter rose. Her long Stark face-balanced out her large sparkling grey eyes, a lush mane of tangled dark curls and waves suddenly fell to her waist, her lips became fuller and darkened like the cherries from the orchards, her hips widened, and no frumpy dresses their Father and her Septa tried to pack her into could hide her pretty shape.

She grew like a weed, and her knees were no longer knobby, but her legs became shapely. She was indeed a wild northern beauty, Lyanna. Lovelier than any winter rose or southern blossom.

And then the Dragon Prince stole her away. Or that’s how the story went. Ned shook those cobwebbed thoughts out of his head and focused back on the manner at hand. Then Greyjoy and his unwanted attention on his oldest daughter. Of course, he was going to notice the growing beauty in his home; she was one the closest girls to him close in his age group, of noble birth and status, and who he has seen numerous times a day.

It didn’t surprise Ned that during this time, Theon started to frequent the brothels. It disturbed him greatly. Was there another inexperienced woman he desired to bed, one closer to home? Ned could no have his daughter being stolen away by the beached Kraken in his home. He also was no blind to the affections of his daughter, often catching her gazing at Theon with doe eyes. Like he was some hidden prince, and she was waiting for him to scoop her into his arms.

He didn’t know when those looks had started, but he has seen them multiple times over the last few weeks as well. She was much more subtle with her glances of desire, but only a fool would not see something was going on between the pair, or there was a desire for something to be going on between them on both ends. He must get to the bottom of whatever was going on between the Kraken and his daughter before it was too late to put a stop to it.

His thoughts were interrupted by a firm knock on his solar door. His wife of fifteen years strolled in. He rose to his feet to kiss her cheek. She was still just as lovely as she was all of those years ago when they become man and wife in the Godswood. She dressed in a thick woolen dress and a frost bear cloak to stave off the slight chill.

”Sansa and Arya are back from their trip.”

”Shall we tell Helen to start dinner?”

Catelyn smiled softly.

”No, let’s give them a few moments to settle in and bathe before calling for the feast.”

Ned and Catelyn had become aware of what their oldest and youngest daughter had been doing when a retired Winter Gaurd named Baelor had seen them walking through the city in everyday clothing and without their guards.

He’d followed them the first few months making sure they stayed out of danger and trouble before coming to Ned and informing him about seeing the rouge pair. It turns out he wasn’t the only one who noticed them, a few other retired guards had also seen them and had taken to following them before telling Ned as well. When Ned learned what his daughters were doing, he went into an intense rage only to be held back by Catelyn.

She scolded him, saying that she knew him, and Brandon and Lyanna did the same thing when they were younger. She said they were being children, wanting to explore the world, and know their people. And that it was only natural.

Besides look at the good that they were doing, bringing the children at the orphanage new clothing and toys and delicious treats. Plus, since they started going on their trips, they no longer fought like cats and hounds but more like annoyed sisters. While Ned was not happy about it, he did understand, and he could not stop them from going out and doing good without being a hypocrite himself since what his wife said was true.

He and his siblings "snuck” out all of the time, not knowing their father had also caught on and had disguised Winter Guards watching their every action. And so that’s what Ned did as well. Only the Winter Guards who his daughters never saw guarded his daughters.

Ned knew that even though his girls were young, they were both sharper than any kitchen knife. They would easily recognize the guards they saw every day and Jory, so he always sent those they were sure not to know. The girls had three guards each, all of whom would report to Ned or Catelyn what his girls had done during the day.

” What did they do today?” Ned questioned as he began looking over his books and ledgers for the month.

” The usual. They broke their fast at the pub, you know, the one Sansa likes and visited the orphanage. However, they ate more tarts than usual, so we should go very light with the deserts. They also visited Magna, the seamstress that we like in the Shopping District. They ordered some new dresses and got their old ones mended and refurbished before selling them for some coin. And Sansa had Arya measure and commissioned for a blade by the blacksmith Edd they met earlier. I expect he’ll come in on the morrow to tell you all about it.”

Catelyn finished with a hearty laugh.

”Humm. I reckon he will.”

Ned sat back in the warmth of his chair and furs. Catelyn could sense something wrong with her husband but would not ask about it, deciding to let him seek her advice first.

“Cat, have you noticed the looks passing between our ward and eldest daughter?”

Catelyn’s happy gaze sharped.

“What looks do you speak of Ned?”

Ned hesitated. And then he sighed.

“The looks passed between lovers.”

The air was heavy for a moment. Ned could only look past his wife at the winter crown mounted in his solar.

“No, I have not. I have seen Sansa staring at Theon recently, but I have not noticed her shared her feelings.”

“Theon has become old enough to return to the Iron Islands. Perhaps I can convince Robert to send him home. Plus, with all of the trouble he’s caused during the last few years with the servants, whores, and drinking, I believe it to be best to send him away now.”

“I agree, but..”

Ned sat forward, agitated that his wife was not wholly supportive of his plans.

“But, what about Sansa, how will she feel about you sending him away?”

“Sansa is a young girl with a fleeting crush on an older man,” Ned quipped sternly. “She’ll forget about the Kraken in a moon.”

“Ned, do not be so dismissive about a young girl’s feelings. We both know how that resulted in the last time,” Catelyn gave him a pointed look causing Ned to flinch. He had told Catelyn of Jon’s parentage the moment they reached the safety of Winterfell.

“A young girl with a ‘crush’ is not to be taken so lightly.”

Ned huffed in agitation.

“Well, what would you have me do, Catelyn? Betroth our daughter to a whore and drunkard who has already fathered three bastards?”

“They did not have them, Ned. Thus, he has not fathered any bastards. Besides, do you remember when Theon first came to stay with us?”

“Yes, I do, it was after his father rebelled against the crown and threw the Seven Kingdoms into war,” Ned said tartly.

Catelyn flinched.

“I’m speaking of the boy, Ned, the boy. He was kind. Curious. Gentle with even the smallest of kittens, Ned.”

“Boys grow into men, Cat, they change, and so has he.”

“We both know why he changed, Ned,” Catelyn stated quietly.

Ned breathed warily. He remembered the day in which Theon learned he was a prisoner of war and would not be going home in the nearby future.

* * *

_Liquor had been flowing freely between Ned and his closest bannermen. Magnar Greatjon Umber spotted Theon across the feasting table and bellowed, “I see you still have the wayward Kraken in your nets, High Magnar, when do you plan to release him to the sea?”_

_Theon, who had been happily chatting with Robb, turned to the Magnar with curiosity alit in his eyes._

_“I shall be going home soon, Magnar Umber, I’m fostering with High Magnar Stark, but I’ll be returning to the islands to see my mother soon.”_

_“Magnar Umber,” Ned stated, trying to draw his attention._

_The Greatjon just laughed, his drunken mind not filled with the compassion one has when speaking with a child._

_“Is that what you believe, squid? You are a prison of war. You are here to ensure your father’s behavior. Should he step a toe out of line, your head will be removed.”_

_“Magnar Umber!” Ned rose to his feet with a ferocious scowl etched into his face.”_

_The Greatjon seemed to register what he had said to the small child a moment too late. Remorse filled his features, but before he could say anything, Theon jumped off the bench and ran out of the hall. But not before Ned could see his devastated face._

* * *

Theon could not be found for three days afterward, and the Greatjon was banned from Winterfell’s halls for a year. After that night, Theon started getting first fights with the stableboys, being rude to Jon, and back talking Ned. As he got older, his behavior only worsened.

Ned ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair.

“That was a long time ago, Cat. Theon is not a boy anymore.”

“He is not a man either.”

Ned’s body slumped, warily, back into his chair, his hands folded across his desk.

“Alright then, my lady, what would you have us do.”

Catelyn worried her lip.

“You will speak to Theon, and I will speak to Sansa. We come back and discuss what we have learned and move on from there.”

Ned looked at his wife for a moment.

“Alright, my lady, we shall do this your way.”

“Wonderful! I will speak to Sansa after dinner.”

Catelyn stood up from her chair, Ned followed.

“I have an excellent feeling about those two Ned. Things will go well.”

Ned said nothing and walked her to the door. Catelyn placed a chaste kiss upon his lips before making her exit. Ned returned to his chair to ponder his wife’s words.

He had less faith than her.


End file.
